


A Word At The Right Time . . .

by lilidelafield



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 20:16:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15493821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilidelafield/pseuds/lilidelafield
Summary: Illya is feeling very guilty . . .





	A Word At The Right Time . . .

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Short Affair Challenge on Section VII on LiveJournal. The prompt words were Borrow and Black.

Illya Kuryakin stared at the figure lying in the bed.

He could not remember Napoleon Solo ever being quite so still or silent before. Not for this long. And it all was his fault.

Illya remembered with a pang, three weeks earlier his excitement, taking his new motorcycle out on the roads for the first time. The exhilaration, the wind in his face, the speed, the ease of dealing with the heavy traffic. The foolishness of forgetting the heavy rains they had had the previous evening.

A child had run out into the road in front of him.

He had slammed on his brakes. The back wheel had locked, then he hit the patch of road beneath the trees that had still not dried out and went into a long skid. He had missed the child by a mile. The lamp post had not been so lucky. Both he and his new bike had ended up wrapped around it. The bike ended up an insurance write-off. He had got off more lightly; severe concussion and broken left pinkie. The broken pinkie was nothing. The concussion had taken him out of the field for a month, forcing Napoleon to go alone to handle their latest assignment.

The words “Napoloeon Solo” and “alone” were words that a wise man never put together in the same sentence. For Illya it was almost a full time job in itself watching Napoleon’s back. Napoleon was active, intelligent, brave and daring. _Foolhardy_ , some said. When Napoleon had been run off the road in his **borrow** ed truck, Illya had not been there to help him or save him.

When Napoleon had been laying for seven hours bleeding from his wounds at the bottom of a steep ravine, Illya had not been there to find him and bring him home. Illya had been sweating and vomiting in medical himself, still suffering badly from his concussion.

Now, Napoleon was here in medical, his face as white as the pillow beneath his head; his **black** hair a stark contrast. His eyes closed and hauntingly still beneath those closed lids.

The beeping of the surrounding monitors reassured Illya that his friend was still alive. Still breathing, in spite of Illya not having been there for him. Napoleon would forgive him, he knew. But Illya would never forgive himself; whether Napoleon survived this crisis or not. His job was to watch his partner’s back, and he had been too excited about his new motorcycle! How could the purchase of a motorcycle come before the safety of his partner?

Illya ran his hands through his hair, and leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees. A hand crept timidly around his shoulders.

            “Illya? How are you doing?”

It was April Dancer. He shrugged without looking round, and she sat herself down in the chair beside him.

            “I brought you a coffee.”

She handed it to him. He took it and gave her a surprised nod.

            “Thank you.”

            “You know, Napoleon once told me that when he was a boy he used to have a recurring dream.”

Intrigued despite himself, Illya sat back and looked at her.

            “Did he never tell you of it?”

Illya shook his head.

            “No. A dream about what?”

            “He said that in his dream he was always running. Sometimes running away from something, sometimes running after something, but always he would be running. When he ran out of breath, he would stop at an ice-cream store, and he would look at his reflection in the window glass. He was always a very old man with silver hair, and that was always why he had run out of puff. Then he would buy an ice cream and wake up.”

Illya furrowed his brow.

            “Interesting. You don’t think it means something, do you?”

She grinned.

            “No, and neither does he really. But he has never forgotten that dream. He is convinced that he will live to see himself become that old man with the silver hair. He is certain of it.”

            “He won’t be an old man with a partner who lets him down.” Illya replied morosely. April shook her head.

            “His partner is a human being, that’s all. You are always there for him when you need to be, Illya. If you are not around to stop him falling, you are around afterwards to make sure he stands up again. That is why he still believes in his old dream. Because he has a partner who cares so much about him that he will even forgo his own holiday in order to make sure that Napoleon has someone to cover his back.”

            “I should have been on that case with him, April.”

            “if you had, you would have been beside him in that wreckage, and we would have had the two of you laid up here. No, Illya. You’ve not failed your partner. You are right where he needs you to be, holding his hand, making sure he has someone to come back to, someone to care for him until he gets back on his feet.”

Illya looked round at her, a new look in his eyes. She smiled at him.

            “I have to see Mister Waverley. I’ll look in again in a while. Anything else you need?”

Illya shook his head.

            “No, I am fine. April…” he grabbed her hand as she passed the back of his chair.            “Thanks.”

She smiled at him and swept out.

Outside in the main medical bay, Mister Waverly was talking to doctor Simpson. They looked round as she closed the door quietly behind her. She smiled at their raised eyebrows.

            “Mission Completed.” She said softly.


End file.
